Fool Me Once
by Lucipherous
Summary: With the long trials and timid days of summer behind them, the Golden Trio and their infamous enemies make their way back to Hogwarts for their final year. As bickering loses its fun and best friends soon become impatient, what will be uncovered?
1. Apathetic I

**Disclaimer: I obviously don't own this, because if I did Dramione wouldve happened forever ago. One shot for now, waiting for reviews ^_^**

_Apathetic Part I._

Regardless whether it was light or dark, traveling always caused Draco Malfoy to become restless. As the landscape blurred past him on the other side of the train's windows, he sighed with the stench of remorse on his breath. He regretted siding with his mother on the idea of returning to Hogwarts for his final year, and for a moment he couldn't remember why he'd agreed. But the truth did not escape his mind easily, and he crinkled his nose as he was once again reminded of his misfortune.

His father, Lucius Malfoy, along with the other Death Eaters had been captured and placed into Azkaban Prison soon after the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco's eyes watered at the sharp memory of his mother's repetitive breakdowns after his father's permanent removal from Malfoy Manor. Draco had been somewhat glad that he would suffer no more harsh beatings, at least not for the next few decades or so. Draco drew in a sharp breath and composed himself as he heard footsteps approaching him. Draco cringed as his ears were drowned in the chuckling of The Golden Trio, who lingered outside the door leading to the Slytherin section of the train. The door eased open, and Harry Potter, accompanied by The Weasel, reluctantly stepped into the hallway, and resumed his discussion of Quidditch with the lanky Ginger boy. They talked with enthusiasm, but tensed from the glares they were receiving from surrounding Slytherins, including Draco. But his attention was soon turned to the small, feminine figure which settled several steps behind the two.

Hermione Granger, a fully developed one at that, glanced nervously around the train as she nearly tip-toed behind, her gaze eventually falling to her feet. She fingered the edge of her sleeve as she trudged down the hall at an obviously much slower pace than she preferred. She avoided biting her lip from frustration of the boys' slowness, all the while trying very hard not to steal a look at the pale haired boy on her left. Draco shuffled his feet as he observed the Mudblood, truly taking in every feature for the first time. She hadn't changed into her robe yet, and her muffle clothes hugged her curves perfectly. She was a dainty thing, really, more like a shy school girl than a sidekick of Harry Potter. She belonged in a library, not stuck in the wilderness battling dark wizards while dodging spells and trying to keep herself in one piece. Draco wondered how she had time to be both a hero and a genius, but he quickly demolished the thought as she caught him staring. Her eyes were round like a does, but still held the color of the shiniest penny or the richest caramel, though appearing more beautiful than either. Her skin was creamy and smooth, and Draco couldn't recall there ever being a bump on it since her first year. It was like a substance that had filled the perfect cavity of her body, dried, and created a heartbreakingly soft and fleshy porcelain being. Her nose was small and not too pointed, and her lips were chiseled into a small pout, while retaining a small amount of pinkish life, even lacking lip gloss. Her hair had tamed drastically over the years, and was now pulled back into a messy bun. Her cheeks colored as he continued to gaze at her, and she rocked on her heels uncomfortably. At the end of the corridor, Ron caught her attention. Her head quickly snapped up at the sound of her name, and Draco's eyes were soon staring into the space where she had been moments ago. He sighed, inhaling her sweet scent. Draco returned his attention to the window, suddenly realizing how warm he felt. He absentmindedly brushed his bangs out of his eyes, and leaned his forehead against the window. The glass was cool against his skin, and he closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on anything besides what had just happened. He wondered about the new feeling that paced around the walls of his heart, occasionally poking the barriers that held in his emotions, asking for entrance. It was a feeling of longing, but also the feeling of protectiveness. Draco twiddled his thumbs as he analyzed it, but found no explanation for it's existence. It frustrated him a bit that he had lost control, and meanwhile had earned himself a few good dirty looks from his fellow housemates.

"_I'm going mad,"_, he concluded, "_absolutely bonkers."_

He piled his thoughts on top of each other, attempting to smother them. It kept his curiousity t bay long enough for him to focus on the vibrations of the train's wheels and the smell of pine trees outisde. His fingers traced small circles on the poleyester that covered the seats, and he hummed to the rise and fall of his chest, eventually landing him into a dreamless sleep.

**Reviews are lovely.**


	2. Apathetic II

**A/N Alright, first off, am super super super super super super super super super super duper uber sorry for the (almost) two month wait for this chapter. The first quarter of school has been hectic with these new AP classes I have. Im sorry if this seems a little rushed and ew-ish, im in the middle of cooking dinner. Hope you like it!**

_Apathetic Part II_

The hallway was rather packed Hermione noted as she picked her way threw the crowd. Her big toe was throbbing from the several ungraceful trips and slips she'd experienced while making her way to Potions. She fought back a scowl as yet another student landed on her foot. But the pain in her small black shoe was nothing compared to the grinding headache she'd developed while two younger witches began talking about a Hufflepuff boy they fancied just a few paces ahead of her. Hermione tried to keep her eyes on the floor beneath her and struggled to keep her mouth pressed into a calm sraight line. As she rounded the final corner to Potions, she almost stopped in mi-stride as she spotted the rather pale-skinned Draco Malfoy lounging against the nonexistent doorframe of the classroom. She grimaced, but did not budge in pace as she crossed the hall, hoping he'd avoid her. She wasn't particularly fond of reunions with her arch nemesis, especially not after whatever all that staring was about on the train this morning. She focused all of her attention on her thumping feet, and tried to mask her face into a perfectly blank and uninterested expression. She desperately hoped it was enough to convince Malfoy to...well, _sod off_ for once. She was almost too concentrated on ignoring him to notice his face shake it's equally passive expression as Hermione passed, exposing the slight confusion or almost...disappointment, that it hid. This peaked her interest ever so slightly, but she let it fade as she spotted Terry Boot waiting for her at their usual table in the center of the classroom.

He bobbed his head in her direction as she made her way over, his long black hair nearly tumbling in front of his eyes. Terry wasn't very remarkable, to say the least. He had brains, no doubt, but he always seemed rather shy around people, especially dim-witted ones. His looks were nothing special, either. A handful of freckles here and there, a pointed chin and nose, a rather wide forehead, and a pair of watery brown eyes. If anything, he was just another nosy Ravenclaw wizard who was trying to keep up with the pace of the judgmental students in his year. Hermione liked his normalcy though. It calmed her for some reason, and he seemed to have taken a liking to her too.

Hermione gathered her focus again and peered around the room as she walked through the maze of desks. She tried to shake her head free of distractions, but to no avail. Not far to her right sat Cho Chang and Anthony Goldstein who talked animatedly about an upcoming assignment in DADA. A little further up sat Theodore Nott, whom sat by himself as he scanned a lengthy piece of parchment. A little to his right Luna Lovegood hummed monotonously next to a very bored-looking Michael Corner, and behind them Justin Finch-Fletchley who scribbled loudly as he tried to ignore Malfoy's piercing glare on his back. Somewhere farther in the back Harry and Ron would usually sit looking off into space, but they had been called for an "emergency Quidditch practice" today, though Hermione doubted that was the case. They hadn't been around much lately, which left Hermione to fend for herself most of the time. She knew she'd find her place soon enough though, or at least she hoped so.

As she finally took her seat, Terry grinned shyly, and shifted in his chair. "Morning, Hermione," she nodded towards him, "how was your summer?"

"Awful, actually," she chirped as her bag slid from her arm to the table,"the weather was terrible for the most part, even in Paris. My grandmother passed in late July, along with my cousin. And now, my foot feels like it's going to bloody well fall off." She snuck a small glance in Terry's direction, and was unsurprised to find that his eyes were wide like a doe's, and his mouth hung slightly open. Hermione laughed inwardly, cheery that she had finally gotten a bit of her frustration out and still manage a reaction out from her partner. Her eyes traveled to her books, which were nearly spilling across the table. With a small sigh, she collected herself and began organizing her textbooks and pieces of parchment into neat towers in front of her, all the while stifling her laughter while Terry Boot continued to gawk in her direction.

****

Draco frowned inwardly, finding that he was disappointed that Hermione hadn't said anything to him. It surprised it him so. He'd at least expected a scolding or..._something_, but she just walked right past him, stray strands of her hair tickling his collarbone. He watched her then, and could almost feel the darkening of his eyes from cobalt to a dingy gray as Boot smiled at her, one of those few geniuine smiles Draco had only spotted once before.

He felt his stomach start to drop a little as she returned the gesture, but he could sense a tenseness around her, a misty halo of uneasiness floating just above her head. His arms tingled, as if asking permission to stroll up to her and hold her close. The feeling didn't run through his body like in those books he'd read in the summer. It wasn't a full blown arousal, nor was it really a definite emotion at all. It was really just a small prickling of his forearms, and a subtle ache in his throat. He wasn't sure what to label it. The sensation moved him, warming him slowly. It made his body churn with heat, reminding him of the melted caramel color of Hermione's eyes. His apprehension towards his new feelings kicked in then, stalling his imagination and spilling doubt into a cavity in his lungs that he'd never known he had. Suddenly the ache in his throat deepened, and he absent-mindedly tugged at his tie. He felt his gaze turn anxious as Hermione took her seat then, and a small grunt sounded behind him.

"Mr. Malfoy," the deep voice of Snape cut through the air like a knife, "I believe your seat is empty. That is a problem in my classroom."

"Yes, Professor." Draco's spine became slightly rattled by shivers as he heard the lethargy deep in his own voice. His voice seemed muffled in his ears, but he shrugged it off, taking his seat next to the Fletchley boy.

The rest of Potions moved sluggishly, and Draco spent most of his time sorting out his emotions. He was unsurprised to find that he couldln't locate the indifference he'd once felt for Hermione. All that he could pick out was a large amount of want, and an equally large amount of need. But most of his brain still remained clouded and fuzzy, confusing Draco further.

He'd come up with a somewhat good explanation for it, especially since every other idea seemed either too far-fetched or didn't relate to his age, blood, or race. Veela genes, he'd decided, was the cause of his muddled thoughts and actions. He was seventeen, so the timing was just about right, but he hadn't really expected it to be Hermione. He couldn't locate the shock or disgust in his instinctive choice, either. The genes had erased that last logical tinge of emotion too. But Draco honestly couldn't remember what he was supposed to feel, or even if he'd ever felt any different about her. He noticed now that he had been unconciously rubbing his temple, and his skin now reddened from the friction. The slight burning reapplied his attention to his surroundings, and he looked up just in time to here his name called.

"Mr. Malfoy will be with Miss Chang; they will be comparing their results with Mr. Nott and Miss Granger." Draco stole a glance at Cho Chang, the thin Ravenclaw a few tables up. Her eyes widened a little, and she bobbed her head as if reminding herself that she was actually paired with Draco. He turned his eyes to Theodore Nott, a fellow Slytherin and a distant friend of Draco's. He did not seem too shaken by the idea of being paired with Hermione, though Theo never seemed shaken by anything for that matter. Draco resisted the urge to glance at Hermione again, knowing that if did he might not be able to stop his mind from wandering again.

Draco saw Theo move towards Hermione after a moment, murmur something, then turn to walk out of the classroom with the rest of the students. Hermione didn't seem puzzled, so he assumed Theo mentioned something about the project the students had apparently been assigned. Draco repeated the motion of his hands on his temples, rubbing them for a few more moments before deciding it was safe to pack his things and leave. He looked up in time to see Cho Chang stumble towards his desk and pluck a piece of paper from her robe pocket, and carefully set it in square in front of his right elbow.

"This is our schedule for the project, I made it while Snape gave the details. Please at least _try_ show up when it says to. I want an A." With that the girl turned crisply on her heel, but she stumbled again over the rough dungeon floors. Draco began cramming his books into his bag, not even having the energy to smirk after Cho's receding form.

**Reviews are lovely.**


	3. A Compelling Urge

**Okay, I must rant for a moment. Of all the 11 stories I follow, NONE OF THEM HAVE UPDATED IN EIGHT DAYS. IM ABOUT TO HAVE A SEIZURE.**

**But in other news, I think I'm going to write all of this chapter from Draco's perspective, since to me Hermione is a tad boring to write through.**

**Sorry if you liked it that way, but it kinda screws me up.**

**Later homes.**

_A Compelling Urge_

Draco lay silently in his bed, his fingers threaded through his damp hair. The green satin of his bedsheet felt like still snow against his bare back, and his old pajama pants were scratchy against his long legs. The dry ache in his throat was back, itching and picking at the nerves that wound through his body. His brain barely reacted at the moment, probably because it couldn't be located under the thick sludge of emotions that clogged his limbs.

You could always tell when Draco Malfoy was depressed; his eyes glazed over every few minutes, his right thumb had the tendency to graze his skin back and forth to the rhythm of his heart, he preferred cold showers to warm, he would scrunch his nose at his food before eating, he payed less attention in general, and he never, ever wore anything besides his worn blue pajama pants to sleep.

The sight wasn't necessarily troubling if you didn't know Draco well enough, but the tear tracks that formed every now and then would alarm anyone. So, Draco sit still in his room alone, again, waiting for the first spots of dawn to consume the moonlight beaming from his dainty window.

His room was silent, just the way he liked it. The only sound was his hollow breathing, but even that was seemingly unoticeable. The halls of Hogwarts had been eager with chatter errupting from each student. Each student except for Draco, and Theodore Nott, of course.

Draco spent most of the day contemplating how to handle his..._situation_. Surely he would have to tell his parents sooner and later, but he shoved that hard into the back of his mind. First, he had to confront the victim; Hermione Granger. He had spotted her wandering the halls with Loony Lovegood earlier as they searched for wrackspurts. His lips quivered and were brought up into a small smile at the memory, but it fell as his stomach churned again and his veins began to burn a bit.

_So this is what it feels like,_ he thought solemnly, this _is love?_ _It feels more like a virus. _His pillow crumpled slightly as he nodded to himself, agreeing with his own thought.

Time seemed to still a little as Draco stood, deciding to dress himself. The night wasn't busy for it was well after curfew. The thought of putting on his robes in the middle of the night made him pout a little, so he settled for a white v-neck laying on the stone floor nearby. He would take a walk, maybe even stop by Madame Pomfrey's office for a sleeping draught. His pale bangs slid in front of his eyes again as he peeled open the bedroom door, and he pushed them back nervously.

The walk through the dungeons had been quicker than he expected, but his pace slowed as he glided through the back halls. Filch would linger in the bathrooms sometimes, so Draco steered clear of restrooms. Hogwarts wasn't necessarily creepy at night. It looked the same to Draco since it was always dimly lit. It was quiet though, and Draco could appreciate the silence.

As he stopped to gaze out thorugh of of the stained glass windows, a small whimper came from behind him. He probably wouldn't have caught the sound if it wasn't for the deep rumbling that followed it. The sound didn't travel very far down the hall since it wasn't very loud, but it still startled Draco. Turning in a small circle, he found that no one was to be found. He grimaced, not wanting to go searching for it. It was the middle of the night and frankly he didn't want to seem like one of those idiots from horror movies that always acted before they thought anything through. Another droning noise sounded again, this time followed by a little tickle on his foot. He jumped back a half inch or so, and peered down.

Staring back was a pair of rather wide ginger eyes, and surrounding them were large tuffs of matching fur sticking out in all directions. Behind the plump orange figure swished a tail, which reminded Draco of a bottlebrush. The cat meowed deeply at him and lifted his paw delicately in the air, revealing a thin strip of parchment attatched to it. Draco gazed at the flat-faced cat curiously.

_ Wasn't he?...no, of course not! But then who...it is of course but...why...who...?_ Draco's scrambeled thoughts were assembled again by the now almost growling cat. "An impatient thing, aren't you?" Draco hushed the cat with a scratch behind the ear as he reached for the parchment. The writing was written in crisp black ink, and some of the letters smeared as he opened it.

Come to the library as soon as you receive this. I will be waiting in the Wizarding History section; third aisle, fourth bookcase down, second shelf, seventh black book from the left.

M.B.

"M.B?" He whispered to the cat, whom now lay gingerly across his left shoulder. The cat purred deep in his throat, followed by a generous amount of drool. Draco carefully set the ball of fur and saliva down on his feet, and the cat scampered away quickly into the shadow of a nearby pillar. Draco shuffled his feet and exercised his neck in circles until it popped approvingly, and decided to wait till morning to discover the mysterious writer, hoping they would seem on edge in tomorrow. Just as he began to move the paper to his pocket, his fingers lit up with heat, and a sharp pain tugged at his palm. Before he could move, the parchment had incinerated, his fingertips and a part of his palm left slighty charred and raw. Just as the sizzling of his skin stopped a whispery voice slithered into his ear, speaking almost to quietly for him to here.

"Mudblood." The word was elongated and soft, and the voice caressed his ear drum. He had no time to contemplate the message before his stomach and feet lurched at the same time, noisily pointing him in the direction of the library, where he would come face to face with Hermione Granger.

**So yeah, it was a little short, but at least we're getting somewhere!**

**Hang in there!**


	4. A Walk Through Hell

**Eh, sorry for the wait. I was trying to decide where to head with this chapter, and I made a tough decision. It might not please some of you, but oh well, we'll get to bigger and better Dramione things later!**

**OH! ALSO! I have decided to start naming my chapters after songs that I like and/or relate to the chapters. This one is named for "A Walk Through Hell" by Say Anything. I love them. ^_^**

_A Walk Through Hell_

Draco woke with a start, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyebrow. Heat radiated from his bare chest, and he could feel the air swell from the impact. His bangs stuck to his forehead in damp clumps, and his upper lip was coated with layers of persperation.

"A dream," he muttered, "it was only a dream." He mentally face-palmed, wondering how something like a dream could've seemed so impossibly real. Hadn't he picked up that...what was it? An owl, surely. No, it wasn't an owl, it was a...what _was_ it? Not a rat, no. Well, had it been a rat? Had it been an animal at all? Oh, that's right, it was a student, a...!...no, that wasn't it. It was very warm, he remembered. Or was it cold? It was smooth with black...no, it was rough with brown...no, it was chalky with yellow...hair...skin? It was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted...or felt? No, you couldn't feel sweetness...could you? It had given him a picture of a...or was it a box of...a note with a...what _was _it?

He had barely lifted his arm to scratch his nose when an angry rip of pain shook the contents of his abdomen. He couldn't help but writhe in place as the pain spread like wildfire, traveling through his nervous system, penetrating the fortress around his heart. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't manage to get the sound out of his throat. Was he having a seizure, a heart attack? He couldn't tell. The intrusion pulsed through him, making his eyes light with tears. His face burned, and he couldn't feel his legs. The pain was everywhere. It felt like he was on fire. _Look up,_ his mind commanded. He did.

A looming figure stood, and it shook with what Draco imagined was the same pain. It's skin glowed a bit as it reached out a slow, convulsing hand. Draco could see the nerves bulging from it's fingers as it moved jerkily, now and then changing it's shaky path. The figure let out a hollow grunt, and it's fingers slipped very roughly into Draco's mouth. He resisted the urge to bite down as the slimy skin shoved it's way around his tongue, shakily traveling down his throat. To his surprise, he could feel the heat draining from his face and slither through his body, balancing his temperature.

"Go," the figure rasped, "your chance is waning thinner by the minute. Her danger will soon be definite. Go, _now!" _He felt another hand join the other in his rather cramped throat, and the heat in his body was soon replaced by disgust and a sickening freeze.

This was worse, he concluded. Much, _much_ worse than the hot pain that was now gone. The seams of his body were bursting, and he could literally feel himself being ripped apart. The silhouette's hands had stopped halfway down his esophagus, and his teeth finally clamped down on the stranger's arms. The figure responded by digging his noticably sharp fingernails into the tissue of Draco's throat.

The only thing he could feel was the frigid blood that flooded into his stomach from both the stranger's arms and his own mangled throat.

Then suddenly, everything stopped.

The empty choking that once resounded off his bedroom walls, accompanied with the weak warnings of the figure, were now replaced by silence. Sweet, sickening quiet. The sheets of his bed were no longer damp, and his mouth was no longer saturated with cold blood. His chest rose and fell calmly, and the first streaks of horizon were illuminating his window. The world had been unstirred throughout the entire dilemma, and he wondered what was in store for him in that day. He sat up reluctantly, not wanting to disturb the now rested pain that had occupied his body. The shirt that he'd once thought he wore sat in the same place on the floor, and he reached for it. It smelled of the same dusty floors, and Draco threw it across the room, dismissing it. He turned in his sheets, and allowed a small shiver when his toes touched the cold stone.

A warm shower would clear his head, hopefully.

****

Breakfast had been dull for Hermione, and she could sense that her mind was preparing for a disappointing day. Her usually beautifully cooked eggs seemed rubbery, and her pumpkin juice seemed bitter. Luna and Ginny were both consumed in colds, and Harry had promised to help Hagrid with something that morning. The only company she had was Ron, who sat across from her, shoveling several types of oatmeal into his mouth.

A bad day, indeed.

She and Ron had never particularly gotten along, but they had their moments; being around each other constantly for six years resulted in friendly moments, whether on accident or not. The year before, she and Ron had gotten the hang of being around each other during the Final Battle, and after Harry's victory, they had struck up a relationship of their own.

A bad decision, indeed.

It was a classic story of summer love. The smart, pretty girl got together with the goofy, immature boy. His family would embarrass her every visit, and her parents would judge him the moment he walked into the door. The girl was unhappy for herself, but happy for him; the boy was content either way. Nobody took any notice to her, especially not her now sixth month boyfriend. School would be starting soon, and she was worried about her concentration waning; he was worried about autumn sports and which shoes he should by. She'd had enough of working herself into her own depression, and blew up on him. He'd suggested that maybe he wasn't the one that needed changing, maybe she was. That was the end of the conversation and the relationship.

Fast forward to now, and here they sat. Hermione glowered half heartedly at her dry eggs, and Ron consumed his food without notice. She fingered the edge of her seat, the bench groaning when another student would sit down, or when one would take their leave. It was only the second week of her seventh year, and yet she still didn't care that this was her last year. Not yet. She was too worried about Ron's words back in the summer, and they danced sloppily in the river of her thoughts.

_"You can bloody well shut your mouth, because I haven't done anythin', 'Mione!" She remembered him pacing on the plushy carpet of his bedroom. She'd stayed at the Burrow nearly all summer, and even when Ron was around she'd be stuck in a personal rut, not even bothering to try to escape. She'd sit in his room all day, reading. This only caused her to sink farther into her depression, being constantly surrounded by the cinnamony scent of him. It reminded her of when things were better between them. "I've been myself because I thought that's what you wanted! Isn't that why we started this whole thing? Hell, 'Mione, what're you gonna' do when we _actually_ split. Go back to your bookworm days? Hah!" He ran a clumsy hand through his hair, and Hermione cringed farther into the corner that she tended to stay tucked into. She spent so much time there that her back would ache when it wasn't pressed against the smooth chestnut walls. "Just go, 'Mione. You're only making things worth by not saying anything. She tried to hold back a sob when he'd said that. She wondered when she'd begun to become so sensitive as she eagerly ran out the door. No tears fell from her eyes that night. _

They hadn't spoken much since then, which didn't surprise anyone else, though Ginny still scolded him for talking to her like that. Harry was disappointed that they'd broken up so soon, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Or at least, he kept them from Hermione. She was unsure whether he'd shared with Ron, though she wouldn't doubt it.

"When're hyou gunna bje mack to nurmole, ayh?" She could here the gurgle of Ron's voice somewhere beyond her own memories, and she automatically shrugged her shoulders. She had noticed the rudeness, but brushed it off, deciding it would be a good time to head to class instead. The bench creaked at her departure, and she felt Ron's lazy gaze on her back.

****

By the time Hermione reached Arithmancy, the day had already begun to drag. Hermione just taken her seat next to Theodore Nott, a Slytherin whom she shared many classes with, when people began to notice her lack of enthusiasm. This was, in fact, her favorite class, and everyone was used to her noisily sorting through her books by now. But she remained silent, quietly picking at a hangnail on her left hand. The usually talkative classroom was quiet, even with the absence of Professor Vector. She tried to ignore it though, still toughly grinding nail against nail, biting her lip when she got frustrated. The picking was the only sound in her ears by now; all the other students had dropped their conversations, and a few had turned to face her. She resisted the urge to peek, to gaze back at the other students. It was making her anxious, having them look at her like that. Was it that shocking that she didn't have anything to say? Surely she did not make this big of an impact. She didn't even talk to anyone around her, except for brief exchanges with Nott. If anything, she assumed she was invisible, except for when she made herself known by calling out the correct answer. Surely changing yourself wasn't all ways so attention-drawing. She was just being paranoid. They wouldn't give her the time of the day. They weren't staring, they were observing. Just observing. Observing for a long, long time. But still. Observing, nothing more nothing less.

But even her will couldn't make her believe that lie.

They were staring at her just because, for once, she had nothing to say.

Strange world.

**Alright, well, I had origionally had a lot more to this chapter, but I don't want to give you TOO much, now do I? :D**

**I'll update soon, I promise!**

**Reviews are LOVELY.**


	5. The Bird And The Worm REWRITTEN

**So basically, I have no excuse for this chapter being so late except for that I was lazy and uninspired. Sorry. 33**

**I NEED REVIEWS, PRETTY PLEASE! I GOTTA HAVE SOME MOTIVATION. :D**

**This chapter is called The Bird And The Worm, dedicated to the song by The Used.**

**By the way, I went to the midnight premiere of DH. ASKLFJASHLFASFJLASKLF SO AMAZING. Kay, you can read now.**

_The Bird And The Worm_

As Draco copied the final bullet of his Potions notes, he pulled away from his desk, leaning back in his chair as he admired his work. After meeting Cho, his Potions partner, in the library earlier that afternoon, he'd blown off pranking first years with Blaise in an attempt to find peace in his room. However, Draco had found the pile of parchment shoved under his door, the first few pages torn. He'd scowled at the floor, then after repairing them rather horribly, he'd found the tiny mark of Snape's handwriting along the edges of the paper. He read the words with unease.

Draco,

We're visiting your father tomorrow. Narcissa and I will expect you at the front gate by noon. If you do not wish to see him, don't come. Though I will make a point to remind you of your mother's...illness.

P.S. Bring your wand.

Severus

Placing the paper neatly on the flat wood of his desk, Draco had stood frozen as the last image of his father pricked at his mind.

The Malfoys had always had the reputation of being pale, cruel, but nonetheless attractive and respected. But as Lucius Malfoy stood in the center of the murmuring court room, his body facing the fifty members of the Wizengamot, he looked thirty different shades of ill. His hands shook at his sides, and his back was ramrod straight. His hair, usually sleek and long, was tangled, dirty, and dull. The usually even blonde tendrils stood out from his scalp in dark brown tufts, curling awkwardly in on themselves. His lips lay open, heaving carbon dioxide out of his mouth, surrounded by prickly hairs of dark brown. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed as he stared at the backs of the whispering council, and his toes moved up and down with the beat of his heart. Draco watched his mother, mostly, throughout the entire ruling, worrying that she would burst into tears at any moment. Narcissa Malfoy sat still aside form her hands, which fidgeted much like her husband's. Her face was open, showing her struggle at keeping her emotions disclosed. Her eyes were watery with concentration, and she exhaled with her lips lodged into a tight pout. And when the Wizengamot stood, she turned to Draco and patted his hand. But even after his father was announced guilty, their family remained silent, waiting to make sure there was nothing else to be heard. Lucius bobbed his head, and Narcissa mumbled something along the lines of: "Well, that's just too bad." Draco rose, dragging his mother with him, nodded at the guards, gave a tight smile to his father, and strolled quietly out of the room, deciding that there was no further reason for his mother to endure the setting any longer.

He frowned as he turned toward his clock. He'd already missed dinner- actually, he'd _really_ missed dinner. It was so late that the Great Hall wouldn't even be serving scraps anymore. He gave the wall a little smack and cursed again, then fished his shoes out of the closet, deciding to go for a walk around Black Lake instead of staying inside for the rest of the night. Blaise had mentioned the weather being nice during Herbology, so Draco left his robe on his chair, deciding that his long-sleeved black shirt would suffice. His stomach wiggled a little as he stepped out of the Slytherin common room, a feeling he was really getting annoyed with. He felt a small pull at his wrists and at the tip of his ears.

_Go right._

He lightly shook his head, and his bangs fell into his eyes. He turned left, wondering whether or not to attend the visiting tomorrow. He had no tests, though he guessed Snape had probably warned the other professors of what the morning would bring. Surely all of them knew how much he was struggling by now. It'd been extremely difficult to catch up on all the missed work from his sixth year, what with him being caught up in Death Eater shinanigans. The Dark Lord had not made life easy for him, an indirect attack towards his father for allowing his son to slack off.

_Go right._

He kept walking.

He'd watched his mother unti late in the Summertime. She did the same things everyday. Draco would wake up to the Sun shining in his eyes, and his mother would be reading a book in the far corner. When he would open his eyes she would look at him for a second then say: "What time is it?" "Morning, Mother." "Do you remember how to make breakfast?" "I do." "I don't." Then she'd walk over and touch his nose, then tell him he should sleep with a shirt on otherwise he'd catch a cold. He'd nod and say he'd reckon he'd remember to that night. Then she'd ask him if he had any idea were his father had been off to the day before and he'd say no. Then she would shrug and declare she was going to go for a walk in Diagon Alley, even though she never did. She would just read, or pet the cat, or ask the house elves how far away a certain month or day was. She continued the pattern until Tuesday, August 18th, two weeks before the students of Hogwarts were to return. Draco hadn't planned on returning, but his mother decided to speak up.

"Draco, darling, has your letter come yet?"

"What letter?" He turned away from the newspaper in his hands, closing the article on

_RIGHTRIGHTRIGHT._

He shook his head again, his bangs swinging back up onto his forehead. His stomach was churning again, and his arms were swaying backwards. Had his hands been this clammy? When did his eye start twitching? Had he had an itchy neck earlier? Why did his ribcage feel like it was vibrating? Was his back supposed to be that warm? Was someone playing a bell near his ear? He shivered. The walls of the dungeons were getting blurry, and he felt like his brain had been replaced with water. He tilted his head, but no liquid drained from his ears. It was so loud, so very loud. There weren't any voices, just slurred sounds. He should change directions, right? If he moved around a little maybe his head would clear? But everytime he tried to take a step, he wobbled, the took a step backward. He tried to speak, but instead his eyes peeled open, but everything was so mushy looking; he couldn't concentrate. His vision was painted blue and black, like Picasso had used his eyes as a canvas. But nothing was beautiful, it was just swirling around, like an untamed coalition of dancing colors. He managed a groan as he bumped into something bumpy and cold, hoping it was the wall. He staggered in the direction his wrists pulled him towards, but after about a minute, his knees gave in, and he heard his face crack as it connected with the frigid tile floor. There wasn't a lot of pain, mainly all Draco felt was the cold. But then there wasn't a whole lot of cold either, it was actually quite warm. And soft. And flexible. But then he groaned again, something was picking at his skin.

"Malfoy, get up," Someone opened the drain, he thought. His ears felt drier now, hollower. He could hear a bit of pacing, and two pairs of breathing. He hoped one was his own. "Malfoy, stop looking at me like that and get _up."_ His shoulders floated off the ground, and his face creaked in response. His nose wasn't clogged anymore either, he noticed. He smelled ripe apples. "Merlin, that is disgusting," there was a pause, "Episkey!" His entire left cheek moved sharply forward pushing him off the wall a little. He said, "Ow."

To his surprise, he found that his eyes were wide open, and instead of pools of blue, he found spheres of honey surrounded by spirals of chestnut, wide expanses of cream and coral instead of black and gray, and thin, dark eyebrows that cut through the colors with confidence. The smell of apples grew heavier.

"You might not wanna...close...could end...b..ad..." His lips felt loose and he couldn't place the right words, all the while she still stared at him.

"You're hurt, shut up. I'm going to heal you so I don't get blamed, so just, yeah," Her eyelids half-fell as she turned her gaze down. "How'd you burn your wrists?" she whispered, her eyes returning up, turning from curious to startled as she saw that Draco was staring at her dreamily.

"Don't. Touch." His voice came out mushy, and he squinted for a few moments. Hermione gazed back at him, then jumped when he grabbed her hands tightly.

"Let me go, I'm just going to help you! Can't you ditch the crazy idea that everyone is out to get you for just a-" "Sorry," then she fell backwards, her body suddenly covered in a blanket of squirming warmth. "What the _hell, _Malfoy? GET OFF OF ME!" But she couldn't push him off, she'd already unconciously coiled herself around him, reacting on hormonal instict. She shivered as soft lips traveled across her throat, continuing down to her collarbone then along the length of her clenched jaw. He stopped moving halfway across her face, and positioned to where his eyes were floating above hers. When Draco spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper.

"I'm really sorry for what I'm about to do. So, so unbelievably sorry. But you just...you won't, get it. I can...just now..sorry." His blue eyes flitted across her face, and she felt his fingers brush across her lips once, and then he sighed, filling her nose with the scent of spearmint. She found that Malfoy had loosened his hands and draped them loosely on the sides of her head, giving her the oppurtunity to move her own. Quickly, she slid from underneath his chest and reached for his face. But before she pushed him back, she stopped, her hands resting on his face.

He had shut his eyes, teeth lodged into a cringe, waiting for her to fight him off until she could escape, then make her way screaming down the hall for help. But, she'd hesitated.

She didn't have time to think, really. He'd just looked so..._sad._ Like he was counting on her taking the chance, not even thinking about it. Like he wanted her to just get it over with, to ruin him.

He was still staring at her, waiting for her to do something. Just something. He was alternating glances from her eyes to her mouth, trying to stay as still as possible.

She was still just laying there, hand on his face, body pressed against his, the middle of the night, near-black darkness throughout the entire hall. No one had passed yet, but Hermione began to fear that someone would discover them. But, what was she supposed to do? She couldn't just push off. She wouldn't be able to bear the site. But we're talking about Draco here! Draco. MALFOY. No one can just decide to do this to some you _loathe._ Right?

The rush of promise ran through his veins for those few seconds, expecting maybe a bit of a surprise from her. Maybe she'd realize it on her own; maybe she'd accept him.

But she just lay there.

He felt his hope plummit as she kept staring.

His hope turned into fear as a few minutes turned into several.

As several turned into many.

As many turned into clumps of time.

As clumps of time resulted in almost an hour of them just laying there, staring at each other.

He felt his cheeks begin to burn under her palms. He could feel the agony of rejection, amplified by his Veela genes, pulsing through him. The emptiness returned, blocking out the warmth of Hermione's body against his. It didn't matter if she was there if he already knew she wasn't his. _Of course she isn't, shates hates me. She can't stand me._

In the brief moment that Draco had decided that he was going to roll over and walk away, Hermione pulled his face onto hers, and kissed him. It was barely a touch of the lips, but his heart surged, and he met her mouth again with frantic need.

Draco was surprised to find that she didn't fight back. She kissed him with equal eagerness, her lips moving in rhythm with his. She twisted her fingers in his white-blonde hair, hooked her leg around his back, and rolled him over, deepening the kiss. She swayed top of him, using his body as support as she backed him against the wall of the dungeons. She pushed him against the stone until he squirmed, and then she moved from his lips to his neck, tracing shapes in his throat. She laughed as he shivered.

He couldn't concentrate on anything, not even the kissing. His skin was alive; trails of invisible fire spreading all over him. There was a pleasurable anguish everywhere, because _she _was everywhere. Her lips traveled down his throat, sucking until the skin was red and irritated. She fiddeled with the end of his school shirt with one hand while the other was knotted in his hair. The keen taste of apple coated his tongue, and the scent of her shampoo swam in his lungs. He could practically feel the victory vibrating in him; he could feel his inner-Veela writhing in pleasant anguish. He smiled as Hermione's lips found their way back to his, kissing him as he continued to grin.

He pulled her away a bit, just enough to see her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her bangs were going pasty from the persperation. Her very manicured hair was gaining a bit of it's wildness back, and her fingers tapped impatiently on his shoulder. He gave her a look, as if to ask, _Are you sure?_ And she nodded, beginning to lean in again. But he shook his head. Instead of pushing her off, he slid his shrunken wand out of his pocket, muttered _Engorgio_, and apparated them out of the hallway.

**Not very long, I know, and rushed, but it's 3:33 AM and I'm tired. **

**REVIEWS ARE LOVELY!**


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